


please try to be patient

by twohourstraffic



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Canon Compliant, Suicide Attempt, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 10:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6607273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twohourstraffic/pseuds/twohourstraffic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Jack, sweetheart, you know we love you. Please just open the door.”</i><br/><i>They can’t see him like this. No-one should see him like this.<i></i></i><br/><i></i><br/>Jack loses a game. It's the straw that breaks the camel's back.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	please try to be patient

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be Part One of a 5+1 that I'm writing, except that I realised that everyone would get whiplash going from this to Shitty interrupting a study session to snuggle Jack. So now it's on its own. 
> 
> Please check the tags and take care of yourselves! There's lots of fluff in the world if this isn't your cup of tea (thank god).

He’d been silent for the entire drive home. Alicia had tried to make small talk, but he clearly wasn’t in the mood. His feet on the seat, his head on his knees. His breath coming short.

The moment they’d arrived home, he’d made his excuses and run upstairs. Pacing around his bedroom didn’t help anything. Sitting in his closet would have felt safe, but he didn’t want his mom to come in.

She can’t see him like this. No-one should see him like this.

He’s now huddled in a ball against his bathroom door, the hood of his dad’s old Habs hoodie pulled low over his forehead. The bathroom feels safe. It’s dark and warm and the heater softly hisses occasionally. It’s the only room in the house with a door that locks.

“Jack, sweetheart, you know we love you. Please just open the door.”

He hears Alicia sigh, sit down on the other side of the door, and he tries to hold in a sob. He can’t breathe, he’s shaking like a leaf, but they expect – need – him to do better. To be better.

“Jack, please. Just talk to me.”

He lets out a choked gasp and hides his face in his hands. It can’t muffle the sound of his ragged breathing, and he hears his mother stand up.

“I’m calling Dad, OK? Baby, I’m really worried about you. What do you need me to do?”

He should be used to it by now. The inevitable crash that comes with a loss. His three shots at goal tonight … at least one of them should have gone in. Not even an assist. And at the last game of the season, _chrisse_. But that’s what happens when you play with shaking hands.

He’ll never forget the look of disappointment in his coach’s eyes.

The looks of disbelief on his teammates’ faces.

The fact that his dad wasn’t even there.

He can hear his mom on the phone. She’s walked a few steps away but her voice is crystal clear.

“I know you’re at a dinner, Bob, but I need you home now _._ Jack’s locked himself in the bathroom, he’s not talking to me. I think he might … I’m fucking _trying_ , Bob, OK? I just … Yeah, I know. … Please, please, just – ” Her words trail off into tears. “As soon as you can. Get someone to give you a lift if there aren’t any cabs, OK? Love you.”

Her footsteps come back towards him. To the bathroom, where Jack’s lungs aren’t working and there’s a vice around his chest and ten thousand thoughts spinning around his head and he can’t stop rocking back and forth and all he wants to do is sleep forever.

“Your dad’s coming home now, sweetheart. It should only be a few minutes, he’s just around the corner.” Alicia’s voice is verging on panic, but she’s clearly trying to keep calm for Jack’s sake. Jack lets out a pained moan and digs his nails into his palms, driving his forehead into his knees.

There are a few minutes of silence where he struggles to breathe before he hears Alicia choke back a sob. “Jack, baby, please … just open the door. We’re not disappointed with you, we could _never_ be disappointed with you. We’re so proud of you, honey, every day. You tried your absolute best today, like you always do, and we couldn’t want more than that.”

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? His best isn’t good enough. It didn’t win them the Cup today, and he knows what people were thinking. He’s a Zimmermann in name only. He’s a flash in the pan. He’s got the training but he buckles under pressure. He’ll get drafted, first pick if the gossip is anything to go by, but it’s only because of his father. Once they realise that he’s a fake they’ll trade him to some expansion team and he’ll never get any ice time and he’ll waste away, fade away, the failed son of an ancient legend, he’s let his dad down, he’s let his parents down, he just doesn’t know why he bothers, he may as well –

He freezes, and pulls the hood back from his face. His eyes flit around the room, before they settle on the cabinet over the sink. Something quick, painless, easy to clean up. He needs to make this as easy for his parents as possible.

Alicia seems to be able to sense that something has changed on the other side of the door. “Jack?” she calls frantically. “Jack, we love you so much. You know that, right? Jack, honey, please say something.”

His voice catches in his throat. “I love you too, Mom,” he whispers, and he hears her begin to weep.

He wishes he could comfort her but he can never do anything right. Recently, it feels like all he ever brings his parents is embarrassment. At least this is the last time.

He hears the front door open and slam. “Alicia?” his dad’s voice calls out frantically.

“We’re upstairs,” she chokes out.

It’s now or never.

Jack hears his dad running up the stairs, taking them two at a time, calling his name.

He stands up and goes to the sink. He grabs the bottle off the shelf. He pops the lid.

He hears his dad trying to force the door open. “Jack, kid, open the door. Please.”

He stuffs as many pills into his mouth as he can, chasing them with a handful of water from the tap. He sits down and tries to take a deep breath. Not long now.

His hands have finally stopped shaking.

He hears his dad say he’s going to go find the toolkit, to try and take the lock off the door. It sounds like his mom is pacing the hallway in tears, calling an ambulance on her cellphone. She gives their address in between sobs.

He sinks slowly, gratefully into darkness, one hand buried deep in the pocket of his dad’s old hoodie, and the other outstretched on the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> If you so desire, come say hi on [tumblr](http://murrayhewitt.tumblr.com).


End file.
